Page 133 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)

As he drove away from Dana’s apartment, Sergeant Kerble felt drained. He switched on the car radio and cranked the volume to help him stay alert. The diplomatic pouch sat on the seat beside him, and as ordered, he would deliver it to the ambassador at once.

Halfway around the massive rotary in Vítězné Square, Kerble felt the phone in his pocket begin to vibrate. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID—a U.S. embassy extension.

“Kerble,” he answered, turning down the radio.

“Thank God you answered!” The woman’s voice was familiar but sounded uncharacteristically frantic.

“Madam Ambassador?” Kerble was instantly on high alert. “Is everything—”

“Where are you right now?!” she interrupted.

The ambassador’s abruptness was unusual, and Kerble had the odd sense she’d been drinking, which was also out of character. “I’m just leaving Dejvice,” he said. “I have the item you requested, and I’m headed—”

“I need you to do something else. Right away.”

As the ambassador explained, Kerble’s instinct told him something about this situation was seriously wrong. “Ma’am, I’m having trouble hearing you,” he lied, implementing their agreed-upon security protocol. “Are you in town? Running errands?”

“For Christ’s sake, Scott!” she snapped. “You know I don’t run errands! Just do what I asked!”

Ambassador Nagel’s heart was pounding as she descended the marble staircase into the embassy’s elegant foyer.

The anteroom that separated the embassy from the street was always manned by a Marine guard, but tonight, as Nagel had requested moments earlier, there were three muscular Marines positioned in the foyer.

The young corporal in charge looked relieved to see her approaching.

The guards were standing with a new arrival—a blond woman in jeans, a parka, and sneakers. Her shoulder-length hair was wet and disheveled, and her posture was slumped, as if she was profoundly weary, or perhaps even injured.

Nagel recognized the woman at once, having seen her in photos.

Sasha Vesna…and she looks like she’s been through a war.

The Russian woman’s presence here—bedraggled but alive —came as a sobering shock.

Seeing her, Nagel felt momentarily disoriented, especially considering what she knew about Sasha’s complex personality.

If Langdon and Solomon were correct about the woman’s dissociative identity disorder, then the first thing Nagel had to do—as bizarre as it seemed to her—was to discern which Sasha had just shown up at the embassy.

“Ms. Vesna,” the ambassador said politely, keeping her distance. “I am Ambassador Nagel. I was informed you are looking for Michael Harris?”

“Yes,” the woman said, her voice frail with a thick Russian accent. “Michael is my friend. He said if I was in trouble, I should come see him here.” The young woman was shivering in the cold, and her voice faltered. “And…I think I’m in trouble.”

You think you’re in trouble?! Nagel wanted to shout. You killed Michael Harris and blew up a top secret government installation! When the ambassador spoke, however, her tone was calm. “I’m afraid Michael is not here right now.” And I think you know that already. Don’t you?

“Will he be back soon?” Sasha asked. “Michael said I could come unannounced if I ever felt I was in danger.”

“ Are you in danger?” Nagel asked.

“Yes, I…think so,” she said, on the verge of tears.

“From whom?”

“I don’t know!” she said, tears flowing freely now. “I don’t know what happened to me! I’m confused and I don’t remember…I just know I need a safe place to be!”

“So are you requesting asylum ?” the ambassador asked.

“I don’t know what that is,” she said, taking a step toward Nagel. “I just need—”

“Sasha, stop!” Nagel bellowed as two Marines stepped between them, causing Sasha to halt immediately in her tracks. She looked genuinely terrified that she’d done something wrong.

“Ms. Vesna,” Nagel said, regaining her calm. “I want to help you, but first I need you to listen to me very carefully. It’s extremely important.”

Sasha nodded.

“This embassy is considered U.S. soil, and when a non–U.S. citizen requests safe harbor on U.S. soil, we call that ‘a petition for asylum. ’ All asylum petitions require an immediate assessment interview by a ranking consular officer. That would be me.”

Sasha nodded her understanding.

“The rules for these interviews,” Nagel continued, “are very strict. Standardized protocol under the Asylum Adjudication Framework necessitates a procedural mandate we term ‘controlled restraint.’?”

The Marine standing closest to Sasha eyed Nagel askance, which was not surprising considering the ambassador was making this up as she went.

“You are not in trouble, Ms. Vesna, despite it perhaps feeling that way. Controlled restraint is an essential part of our asylum protocol. It is a precautionary measure and ensures a secure environment for both you and the embassy staff mem—”

“I understand,” Sasha said, extending her hands and offering her wrists. “It’s okay if you restrain me.”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Nagel said, surprised by Sasha’s instant compliance.

“My team will now restrain you per our protocols. You will be placed in a safe, locked conference room, where you will be given food, water, access to restroom facilities, and medical attention should you require it.”

The Marine guards hesitated just long enough to see Nagel staring daggers, and the lead corporal sprang into action. Within seconds, he had affixed a set of standard-issue flex cuffs to Sasha’s outstretched wrists and, together with the other guards, guided her through the security divider.

Nagel gave them a wide berth, glancing at her watch. It was 8:30 p.m. “I will join you as soon as I’m able, Ms. Vesna, but it may take some time. In the meanwhile, my staff will ensure you are warm and fed.”

Sasha had tears in her eyes as she passed by. “Thank you for your kindness,” she managed to whisper.

As Nagel gathered herself and headed back upstairs, she realized she had some very big unanticipated decisions to make.

And fast.